


Take a Picture of All my Flaws

by skyandmustard



Category: GMMTV Actors, offgun
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Meet the Family, third time is the charm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22127950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyandmustard/pseuds/skyandmustard
Summary: Gun decides to start his own 'business' for some extra cash he badly needs to support his luxurious life with.Off has some issues of his own he thinks he can only deal with by renting someone to play as a fake boyfriend.Somehow, their worlds meet.Once.Twice.Thrice.
Relationships: Off Jumpol Adulkittiporn/Gun Atthaphan Phunsawat
Comments: 21
Kudos: 128





	1. Once

**Author's Note:**

> This is a product of me finding out about OffGun so late and then feeling sorry about it. Also, there are only 37 fanfics under the OffGun tag in AO3, and I figured if no one’s going to do something about that then I will. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a fan fiction written from the author’s (my) own imagination. Although I retained the names of some of the characters, this is purely fictional and is not made to reflect the identity of the characters in real life. This story is for entertainment only.

Gun is feeling so unsettled sitting across a man who he should be talking about the whole “rent” thing with but is simply bouncing his knees and stealing glances at him every ten seconds like a creep.

 _i don’t like this guy_ , he typed on his phone, sending it quickly to Jingjing.

Gun tries clearing his throat but it does not work; he reaches over for his cup of iced coffee. It’s already gone diluted by how long they’ve been awkwardly sitting there doing nothing. 

Gun has always been the one to start the conversation, but weirdly enough it feels like no one between him and this guy is ready and in the mood for this kind of humor at this hour of the day. The guy looks like he’s about to flee any given minute, which is weird because he sounded so persistent and final on the phone. Gun just has nowhere else to be at so he simply looks bored.

Sipping his drink, he takes this chance to give the guy a stealthy once-over.

Black socks, black sandals, black jeans, black Aloha shirt. He might’ve mistaken their meeting for a funeral. 

_Can’t blame him. It kind of makes sense._

The only thing that stands out from his look is the beaded necklace he has on. It has some smiley faces on it, which is certainly not something you’d want to wear at a funeral. 

But then again, maybe it depends on who died.

_is he hot?_

Jingjing 16:21

_he’s been staring for the last five minutes_

_it’s giving me the heebie-jeebies_

Gun 16:21

_maybe he’ll give you something else later ;)_

Jingjing 16:22

_gross_

Gun 16:22

“I need someone to introduce to my parents.”

The voice takes Gun by surprise. He almost thought the guy was mute. Or maybe he has some kind of telepathic ability he’s been desperately trying to use for the last ten minutes but somehow just doesn’t reach Gun. 

Gun looks up from his phone. “Huh?” 

The guy (Off, as he said on their text) is just looking at him blankly. _He really has a way of giving people the creeps._ Gun’s afraid he might on a surprise episode of You. He hasn’t seen it yet, but he heard people died so that’s enough info by itself.

“Oh, uh. Sure,” Gun sips more on his iced coffee just to have something to do. 

This is, hands down, the most awkward first meeting thus far; and the first one ever involved a third person who needed to translate everything they're saying even though they’re all Thai. _Can you imagine._ Poor guy couldn’t form words in nerves. Maybe he’s the one who needs the telepathic superpowers, not Off who looks like he _needs_ invisibility more.

That first guy is more entertainingly funny than awkward. 

“I’m your guy. That’s what I do,” Gun tries to laugh it off, but Mr. All-black doesn’t budge. 

Gun would have felt intimidated by how snob and serious Off looks, but his what seems to be a habit of scratching his cuticles on his lap gives it away. His face might be devoid of emotions, but the guy probably has a million thoughts playing inside his head.

Gun lets his eyes wander around, refusing to make eye contact with Off a second longer. He’s scared he’d finally receive _the_ telepathic brain waves or some other type of supernatural shit if he spends some more time studying Off.

Looking around, he observes at least three other couples with them at the cafe. Couples on a date, obviously. But like, a legit date. Not the first meeting of two people who’re about to scam everyone with their so-called love affair. 

Gun wishes he could orchestrate some more cooler stuff instead of a fake date no one around them would even notice or acknowledge, which is stupid because that’s usually the whole point.

He is spacing out over some Boston Fern hanging in a pot by the window when Off finally speaks. 

“I need someone they won’t like,” he says.

Gun pauses. He probably just heard that wrong. His phone vibrates twice on his hand. “I’m sorry?”

Off only repeats his words, although not as straight-faced this time. He has a visible grimace and Gun can’t blame him.

_I need someone they won’t like._

O—kay… that’s new. _Someone they won’t like. Someone they won’t like?_

“I need to turn them off,” Off probably feels the need to add.

A continued pause. This is the first time Gun’s hearing this kind of request and it’s making him extremely confused. He’s pretty sure it’s showing on his face.

“You’re saying I’m someone your parents won’t like?” he asks, half joking but kind of intrigued too. In reality though, he really just doesn’t know what else to say. He’s trying to buy some time to process what’s happening.

Off seems to ease a little at the remark. From the looks of it, he was expecting _the_ question. Maybe he’s even been overthinking it since earlier because he lowkey looks constipated ever since they sat down. 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t know you. But I need you to be someone they won’t like.”

 _That’d be hard; everyone likes me_ , Gun instinctively thinks. He snorts at the thought, but when he looks up, Off is looking even more unimpressed. He clears his throat. “Why do you need someone to turn them off anyway?”

Off’s face changes. Here comes the question he’s been dreading since the day he decided to “rent” Gun. 

“I just,” a small falter, “want to get them off my back.”

He should’ve prepared better because it doesn’t sound convincing at all. He’s lucky Gun knows he’s not in the place to ask further (yet). And he sees Off doesn’t want to be asked anyway either.

“Okay,” Gun says instead. “Then I guess I’m an unlikable boyfriend now. Works for me.” 

He’s honestly still a hundred percent weirded out by the whole thing; there are at least twenty questions inside his head and all of them starts with a why. But he can’t deny that at this point, anything works for him as long as he gets paid.

_Wait, that makes me sound like a slut. Not that it’s 100% a lie, but still..._

On the other hand, Off appears a bit more relieved by that than anything else. He certainly doesn’t like questions. Gun almost feels like poor guy’s regretting his decision, which is completely understandable. Not everyone is willing to pay money for a date when Tinder and Bumble are free apps. But Off seems to have a solid plan in mind and it totally explains his internal crisis. He doesn’t want to go through this, but he has no other choice.

_That’s tough, man._

“We’re having dinner next weekend,” he says. “My parents and my sister, her husband, and their baby.”

Gun’s face lights up hearing that. “There’s a baby?” he exclaims, lips naturally stretching into a full smile. He _loves_ babies.

Off frowns.

 _Oh, right._ “I hate babies,” Gun tries correcting himself although he just sounds funny and unsure more than anything. 

He’s met with an eye roll.

 _Great._ He can’t even like babies now.

“Anyway,” Gun places his now empty cup of iced coffee back on the table, “I need a rundown of what exactly you want me to do, the dynamics of your family — I don’t know — anything.”

This is the first time he’s doing this. Most of the time, or _all_ the time, he has to act all cute and bouncy and nice and impress everyone that comes within a 5-meter radius from him. If Off really wants this to work, they need a concrete plan.

Off shrugs his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll send you something tonight, on your email.”

_Wow, emails. Am I in class?_

Gun’s eyes shift to the side, realizing something. “I don’t need to be the bad boy who wears leather jackets at 30 degrees and drives a black Ducati for this, right?”

Off snorts, his first real-ish expression since they met today. And even that miniscule change in his expression feels so alien on his face. Gun wonders if Off has a quota for how many times he can _not_ deadpan within a day; that’s like his default face. 

“No,” comes Off’s response. “Actually, just you being a guy is already good enough.”

Gun raises his eyebrows. Oh. _Oh._ “Your family is homophobic?”

Off shifts on his seat. The smiley faces on his neck feels like they’re mocking Gun. “Not exactly. I don’t think they expect me to swing that way, is all.”

“So you don’t?”

Off stares for a good second before turning to his watch. “I need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes.” And then he reaches for his purse. “I’ll just send you the PDF later tonight.” He puts a 1,000 bill on the table.

Gun’s eyes automatically roams around, panicked and guilty. “No, it’s fine.” He lowers his voice, “I don’t charge for the first meeting. Also, we didn’t even take 2 hours.” 

He mentally cursed himself for forgetting to text Off about this. Fourth client and he still can’t get over the fact that he’s getting paid for a date. He feels so paranoid every time; he feels as though everyone around them knows he’s selling himself for some extra cash.

Off pushes the money closer to him. “Just take it.”

“This kinda feels sugar daddy-ish.” 

Okay, that came out too suddenly. He just wants to get rid of Off and his 1,000 baht as quickly as he can without anyone noticing. He doesn’t know why he’s being too defensive all of a sudden. Maybe it has something to do with one of the baristas who kept glancing at them for the past fifteen minutes.

Gun steals a glance at her direction. _Are we taking any classes together?_

Off smirks. “Am I not essentially that?”

Gun turns back to Off and scrunches his face. “No?”

 _Shit._ She’s from his international relations class.

Rich boy puts on his sunglasses. He has the look of relief on his face. _It’s finally over._ “I’ll be going.” At least for now.

_Or is it international political systems?_

Left with no chance to argue (and with a lost of interest to), Gun sits there looking at Off’s retreating back instead.

Off is tall, rich, and if Gun’s being honest, kind of good-looking too. It’s a weird thing to have someone like him want to sabotage a meet-the-parents type of event. He looks like someone who’d want to please his family instead.

His phone suddenly vibrates again.

_just finished stalking his instagram_

_he’s hot! maybe you should make an exemption and have a full-blown make-out session with him_

Jingjing 16:23

He shouldn’t have told her his name. He completely forgot how his friends are worse than the FBI sometimes. He himself haven’t stalked Off on any social media platform. 

Just on LINE. But that doesn’t really count.

_we’re going at sing sing tonight u coming?_

Jingjing 16:39

He looks at the 1,000 baht Off just left on the table and smirks.

_sure_

Gun 16:40

Gun’s head is pounding like crazy, and the suspicious amount of daylight shining through his drawn window isn’t helping at all. 

He should probably stop doing this to himself; and if not, maybe he should do something about his curtains instead.

_How much is the installation of smart curtains anyway?_

He turns and buries his face in his pillow. _Heck, why does it have to be so bright?_

Maybe because it’s morning. Morning. 

Wait.

Isn’t he supposed to wake up at seven for his 8AM class today?

_Oh, fuck._

He shifts on his side and reaches for his phone. He feels a jolt of pain at the back of his skull. There’s that sweet, incoming migraine. 

9:08AM. 

Oh look. He’s an hour late for his an-hour-and-a-half class today. He forgot to set an alarm; and who’s even surprised at this point? He’s not the most responsible 22-year-old there is, if you still haven’t figured that out.

_Where the fuck are you?_

_Again_

Newwie 8:15

_Khun benz just finished doing the attendance and i just want to let you know you’re 1 strike away from being kicked out of this class_

_Sleep well_

Newwie 8:17

He buries his face back in his pillow, muffling his helpless grunt. Why he’s such an irresponsible adult is really beyond his knowledge. It seems like he’s made “doing regrettable things” a pastime now. Other people do sports or reading or anything else worthwhile as their hobby. But Gun decides partying on a school day is a worthwhile leisure activity.

A new notification comes up on his phone.

_Have you read what I sent you?_

Off 9:12

Oh, right. He has this side job, too. He really likes dumping responsibilities in his plate like a 999-baht unlimited buffet despite being bad at handling them. This is what people call the fine line between being brave and being dumb.

Too lazy to type a reply, he recorded his voice. “Not yet.”

It took Off a minute to respond.

_Rough night?_

Off 9:13

He rolls his eyes. People are less awkward on chat, sure. Or maybe Off has managed to magically deal with his existential crisis overnight. 

“Don’t be too judgmental.” And then on a separate clip, “How’d you even know?”

_Your voice sounds hoarse_

Off 9:13

 _Ugh, whatever._ He _did_ have a rough night. Off’s pay barely even bought him three drinks, and that’s kind of the point of this whole business thing. It seems like he’ll really be seeing Off for a while. And maybe as ‘kind of a sugar daddy’ as he called it.

His mind traces back to the girl from the cafe. He hopes she doesn’t caught on anything while he and Off were there. And if she did, he hopes she doesn’t have a large mouth to accompany her big ears. 

But sugar daddy or not, who gives a shit anyway? 

You know how it goes; desperate times call for desperate measures. After all, what’s the use of winning the best child actor award at second grade during the annual PTA meeting of their school if he’s not going to utilize it for some _harmless_ , personal gain? If singers can earn some money from doing gigs, why can’t he by acting sweet and throwing some cringey, cheesy lines every so often?

_Anyway, read it and send some feedback._

_I think we also need to meet again at least a couple more times to discuss some stuff._

_If your schedule allows._

Off 9:15

_Just to not look awkward on the day itself._

_I’ll pay you for your time._

Off 9:16

Of course, that’s what he does. For someone who has zero idea about time management, he really has the guts to sell his time to random strangers. How efficient.

“You seem very serious about this,” Gun sends.

Off does not reply after that.

Gun sees the smile fade from Off’s parents’ faces when they see him at their porch.

If it is because of his (hideous) matching floral shirt and pants, the queue of silver hoops along his helix, his freshly dyed blue hair, the huge durian he’s cradling like a baby in his arms, or just the plain fact that he’s a guy, he has no idea. Maybe it’s the combination of all five, but Off seems pleased with their reaction so he carried on with his act.

“Good evening, aunt and uncle.” He extends his arms to pass on the durian to Off’s dad. 

Everyone in their household doesn’t eat durian, but according to a reliable source (read: Off) the Dad seems to be the one who hates it the most.

Off’s dad hesitantly takes it but leaves it at a good distance from himself. The discomfort is evident on his face. And if he’s not too distracted trying to make sense of what’s happening, he must’ve thrown the damn fruit at Gun’s face already.

“I bought the biggest one I could find so you can all share it,” Gun chirps through an exaggerated smile. He puts on the best annoyingly smiley face he can muster.

 _That stupid necklace is a foreshadowing._ He should’ve known.

Off’s dad looks horrified. “Uh, t-thanks.”

“Oh, uh… come in, come in,” Off’s mom urges, an appeal to save the dad from having a mental breakdown right by their doorstep.

Off’s house is huge for a family of four (now two, because his sister moved out after getting married while he’s staying at a condo in Bangkok). It’s tidy as hell, furnished with expensive-looking furniture, and is adorned with large floor-to-ceiling windows. If Off’s attitude isn’t indication enough that he’s pretty well-off, their house is a good enough confirmation.

Now it makes sense why out of all the four past _clients_ (Gun winces at that term) he had, it’s only Off who uses the term “sugar daddy” and actually fits it. He’s rich and radiates the grumpy, old man vibes. Gun wouldn’t be surprised if he’s actually a retired CEO divorced from his wife.

Gun notices the dining table from a distance. It looks full and carefully prepared. It _almost_ makes him feel bad for sabotaging this whole event.

Off’s mom ushered them to the dining hall while the Dad immediately disappears at a hallway after dropping the durian on the island next to a basket of other fruits. If Gun wasn’t looking, he’d totally toss it inside their bin.

“I already prepared the table when Off texted you’re only minutes away,” Off’s mom says, her eyes turning crescents in a warm smile. She seems so nice Gun is certain he’s going to hell by the end of this day. “You must be hungry, driving all the way from Bangkok.”

“Not really,” Gun gives off a disinterested shrug. “We made a drive-thru earlier.” 

Who purposely eat before going at a dinner invite, he has no idea.

Off’s mom’s face falls. “Oh, so you’re still full?”

“No, no. We’re fine. We’re eating.” It’s Off, playing his unchanged, respectful image. “Babe, come sit here.”

Gun gives the Mom a grin before following his (fake) boyfriend at the other side of the table.

At that moment, a little girl emerges from the hallway and Gun’s first instinct is to open his arms and welcome her on his lap, but Off’s intense glare from his side reminds him that he’s here to play the unlikable boyfriend and unlikable boyfriends are not supposed to be good with kids. And honestly, this might be the biggest hurdle of tonight. He’s already physically aching from not being able to play with a baby.

However, a more interesting topic is standing by the end of the hallway. Off’s sister and her husband have their mouths slightly agape scrutinizing Gun.

“Hi!” Gun cheerfully greets, waving his hand instead of doing a wai. “I’m Gun. Off’s boyfriend.”

Their gaze moves to Off, and then back to Gun. Nobody told anyone Off would be bringing home a new _boy_ friend instead of a new _girl_ friend. _“For the shock factor,”_ as Off said. Seems effective.

Off’s sister and brother-in-law almost unsurely introduced themselves before taking their respective seats.

It feels like a cult meeting, with all of them sitting around the table with no one talking. Awkward is an understatement. There isn’t just an elephant in the room; it’s a freaking blue whale out of water.

No one knows what to say, and Gun gets it. Should they address the fact that Off brought home a guy? That would be rude. And it would make them look neglective for not knowing their son’s sexual preference in the first place; it’s not something they’d want to discuss with a stranger in the room.

And so just as expected, the parents starts with Off’s older sister instead. It’s the safest option.

They asked them how they’ve been and all the yada yada you ask during family dinner. Gun makes sure he yawns at least twice, especially when it was Off’s brother-in-law who’s talking. He’s quite a talker, and Off said he really likes it when people pay attention to his stories. Gun just has to make it obvious he’s bored.

Finally, after a whole narrative about their family trip to Japan the other week (and at least two subtle side-eyes from Off’s brother-in-law), it’s Gun’s turn for interrogation. 

It feels like everyone has quite a number of questions for him, but at the same time, no one feels safe enough to ask. But they also know they have no choice. Gun’s there and he’s bound to get some questions.

It starts with the simple practice questions — the cliche how-are-you and how-old-are-you questions. And then it slowly builds up from there.

“So Gun, what do you do?” Off’s father asks.

Gun takes a spoonful of his meal before answering, his mouth acting as a replica of a food processor displaying all the chewed-up food inside. “I’m still a student.”

Off’s mom has here eyebrows knit in disgust, although she’s trying hard to not be so obvious about it out of courtesy. It’s ironic. 

It’s like Gun and Nirin are having a competition of who’s going to make a bigger mess while eating. But Nirin has an excuse. She’s two. Gun’s _twenty_ -two.

“Oh, really? What faculty are you in?”

“Political science.” A piece of rice flew out from his mouth.

Off’s dad raises his eyebrows before humming in approval. 

About his major, not his eating habits. 

_Just clearing that up._

“Third year?”

“I’m an irregular student. I failed a few classes last year so I’m retaking them now.” 

He hates how he’s not even lying when he said that. But to be fair, he failed only because of his tardiness. He may not be very intelligent, but he’s not dumb either. At least that’s how he tries to justify himself inside his own head.

Off’s parents grew silent for a beat. According to Off, they are kind of traditional and are very keen about studies. So keen that they’re encouraging Off to get a master’s degree despite him already taking over the family business (which seems to be doing really well, too). 

_Old, grumpy businessman, remember? I guess that’s just the price you pay for being financially successful._

_This is why I'm_ young _and_ cute _._

Nobody knows what to say next. They can’t even say it’s okay because it’s not okay for them. Gun somehow finds it hilarious. His own parents didn’t even care. Well, they rarely care about anything really.

“But that’s good, right babe?” Off interjects. “He’s utilizing his time for something else aside from school. He’s actually working part-time.”

“Oh, yeah?” Off’s mom lights up at that. “What do you do?”

She’s probably expecting something worthwhile, like working on civil services, or as a campaign analyst, or as an assistant to the executive assistant of a juridical judge. But of course this is just another trick in his pocket.

“I’m working at a gay bar.”

Off’s mom choked on her drink. Gun might as well hear a bone from Off’s dad’s neck snap from how fast he looked up at him, appalled. The other couple has their spoons pause on the air.

Gun fakes a silly laugh. “No, no. Not like that. I work there as a bartender.” 

It doesn’t really exacerbate everything the family’s imagining inside their heads, but maybe at this point it’s already good enough for them that he’s not wearing a g-string on his job. 

And so the whole family nods an, “ahh” before going back to eating.

But then, “I quit performing last year.”

The brother-in-law chokes on his vegetable and Gun has a hard time suppressing his laugh. 

By this time, he knows everyone is trying hard not to imagine whether their own family member has been meeting Gun at his supposed workplace.

The sound of cutlery swallows the whole room after. Gun feels like everyone’s traumatized and wouldn’t ask questions anymore. They haven't even touched half the food on the table but they're at their second pitcher of water; everyone needs at least two gulps to down their food. It's almost comical.

After a few minutes though, the clunking of the silvers against the ceramics starts to sound deafening; it’s probably why Off’s brother-in-law asks, “You like piercing?” gesturing to his ears.

That makes Gun unconsciously touch it. “I do!”

“I’m actually thinking of getting one myself,” Off butts in. His dad looks at him at the same time Gun does. This isn’t on the script. And then he adds, “Gun likes tattoos, too.” 

A beat passes before Gun follows. “Uh, yeah. Piercing, tattoos, all that stuff.” He looks away from Off and pulls off a sly smiles. “My favorite one is the one on my pelvis. Wanna see?”

Before anyone could stop him, he’s pulling his pants down low enough to not his only reveal his (fake) tattoo but the skin above his groin.

Off’s sister is quick to cover Nirin’s eyes although Gun doubts the girl even understands what’s going on. The rest of the adults, however, are beyond mortified. Off’s dad missed his mouth and had a piece of pork plop back down his plate. Off’s mom chokes on her drink for the second time, while Off’s brother-in-law looks as if he’d seen his favorite movie character die, get resurrected, only to die a second time.

No one dares to ask him any more questions after that, which is absolutely fine if you ask him. Him and Off has done their job at this part of the night, and now they’re on to the next phase.

Gun just hopes the whole family is ready for more, because the magician’s hat ain’t running out of rabbits to pull this early on.

Okay, forget the magician’s hat because Gun is suddenly left sitting awkwardly at the living room together with Off’s sister. 

Off disappeared somewhere with his mom. His dad is busy playing with Nirin all over the house while his brother-in-law is at the kitchen slicing some watermelon. None of them is touching the durian; it’s like the fruit earned some sort of superpower and became invisible. 

_What’s with this family and superpowers?_

“You know, we’re glad you’re here.”

Gun snaps back to reality. “What?”

“We’re glad you’re here,” Off’s sister repeats with a closed-lip but sincere smile.

Oh, _geez_. How are they still nice despite all his misbehavior? Off didn’t tell him they’d still be nice. In fact, it seems like Off expects them to throw a fit or something. Maybe even kick them out of the house.

Or of the family.

Gun has the impression Off has such an awful judgment of his family.

“You’re the first person he introduces to us after Milk,” the sister continues.

 _Milk. Who the hell is Milk?_ Nobody tells him anything in this house. Well, he’s supposed to just be the fake boyfriend who pulls some tricks to piss off Off’s family so it kind of makes sense why he doesn’t really understand some references here. But it still would’ve been nice to not look like a clueless monkey.

“Oh, uh…” he stutters. “That’s cool…?”

“He was sort of a wreck after their breakup. But I’m glad he’s starting to move on.” _Oh, snap._ Gun nods as if he understands anything. “Sorry,” the sister reassures after seeing Gun’s confusion. “I shouldn’t be talking about his ex.”

“It’s fine...” Gun trails off. What else can he say? This is starting to get deep. Off didn’t tell him no shit about his whole backstory and now they have his sister talking about some kind of a Milk.

The loopholes to their plan are starting to show up one by one now. They were too engrossed in coming up with all kinds of evil plan to make Gun look like an insensitive fuck who doesn’t fit in in Off’s family’s morals that they completely forgot what would happen if they somehow got separated and a family member starts talking to Gun about Off’s exes. 

Oh, right. It’s because that little genius refuses to talk about anything involving himself. They spent half of their time talking about all the things Off’s family hate and the other half just staring into either space or their phones.

This whole fake date thing isn’t really a serious thing, if you ask Gun. Well, at least on his end. And maybe it’s that same exact reason why somehow irks him that they’re doing such a bad job at something so simple. 

A little girl’s excited scream suddenly fills the living room, pulling Gun out of his head. 

Gun finds Off’s dad standing from the hallway, asking his daughter to look after Nirin for a while since he has to go to the loo.

 _Shit._ Here goes another loophole — Gun’s resolve with kids.

Gun decides to ask the 'are you okay' question when they’re already at the expressway.

Off has been too focused on the road the past minutes that Gun can almost feel the tension inside the car. He tried playing it cool by fiddling with his phone, but the pregnant silence just grew more and more uncomfortable for him to ignore.

Off seems to be in a sour mood all of a sudden, which also puts Gun in a bad mood because for some odd reason it felt like he’s the reason Off’s pissed off. 

The guy has been his most moody client, and the thought isn’t helping Gun cope with the displeasure that’s currently boiling slowly at the pit of his stomach. 

He probably should’ve warned Off that he’s the type to get carried away easily when he’s with someone who’s mad or pissed off. But of course he didn’t expect to have to deal with that kind of complexity within the short amount of time they’d interact; who knew Off has “pissed off” as one of his basic emotions.

“I’m fine,” comes Off’s curt response.

Gun probably shouldn’t push it, after all they’re not even friends. They’re just strangers forced by some weird life event to act as a fake couple for a night. 

But sometimes his mouth runs faster than his brain (and he’s also kind of getting impatient already; he hates getting the silent treatment), so he still finds himself asking, “Then why are we going back to Bangkok at 10 in the evening —” _when we spent the past week planning how we’ll spite your family by spending the night at your house?_

He held his tongue with the last words. He really shouldn’t be complaining when (even though he’s the main actor) he’s basically just an accessory in this act. It’s Off’s story, Off’s family, Off’s plan, Off’s everything else. But he skipped two lunch dates with his friends to plan out this whole thing, dyed his hair blue (though it ended up looking okay and Off gave him the money for it anyway), and ruined his image in front of four and a half people only for his (fake) boyfriend to back out midway. That does not feel good and only feels unflaggingly wasteful.

Unsurprisingly, despite his poor attempt at filtering his words, his passive-aggressive remark does not go past Off. His neck snaps to Gun at the passenger seat, staring him down. 

For a moment, Gun feels afraid. He’s reminded of the fact that he really doesn’t know this guy. Off could be a deranged murderer and Gun’s not helping his case by triggering his manic behavior. Inside a car. At an expressway. 

“I’m not the only one who messed up here,” Off spits out, upset. “Just to remind you, you played with my niece the whole night when I’ve told you so many times not to.”

_Wha—?_

Gun does a double take; he’s in disbelief. _Is he being serious?_

Why is this guy suddenly nitpicking him when the pressure of this whole fake dating thing is actually on him the whole night? Off is not the one who has to convincingly act out of character for five straight hours. He’s not the one who’s going to be hated on for the rest of his life by people he’ll probably not meet again after tonight but would still exist somewhere in this world bad-mouthing him.

“Well, it’s not my fault kids naturally like me,” he retorts. This topic is so petty, but who cares. “It’s hard to fake not being good with kids, you know. Just how hard it is to fake being close to them.”

Off blinks in surprise. Gun raises an eyebrow in triumph. “Are you saying I’m not close to my niece?”

“Are you? It doesn’t look like she even wants to be carried by you.”

“S-she’s — just shy.”

Gun scoffs at Off’s poor attempt at justifying his niece’s obvious distaste for him. “Shy? Kids want to be carried _all the time_!”

“Who are you to judge my relationship with my family anyway?” Off’s eyes roll at the back of his skull before turning back on the road.

Great. Just a few hours ago they were borderline making out at Off’s parents’ living room. Now they’re a hair's breadth away from pulling over at a hard shoulder just to get into a fist fight or something.

Yeah, okay. It was part of their _grand_ plan to show so much PDA the whole family might as well just throw up everything they had at dinner.

Okay, that was an exaggeration.

But they did have a moment after dinner with Off sitting on the sofa and Gun almost sitting on his lap peppering his neck with kisses while sexily disheveling his hair. If it wasn’t for Off’s mom asking Off to help her with something in their backyard, the night might’ve ended up with them being chased down by Off’s father with a kitchen knife he should be using for the durian but since he hates it with his guts, it’d just be used to castrate his son and its boyfriend instead.

“Are you hungry?” Off asks out of the blue after almost half an hour of total silence. Gun cannot believe how fast his mood can change.

“Not really.” 

And it’s not just about having dinner earlier. He’s really not in the mood to prolong his agony by eating with Off somewhere. He wants to be out of there. Fast. 

Gun feels like it’s a deja vu — him sitting with his knees crossed, across from Off who’s still bouncing his own knees distractedly. Except this time, Rich Boy is not staring like a weirdo but eating a plate of kway teow.

Gun got himself one too, but only because he didn’t feel like sitting awkwardly across from Off and watch him eat his food like a mother to her 3-year-old.

_this feels like the worst day of my life_

_and i’ve had a lot of bad days_

Gun 23:14

_yeah, you’ve been puked on by a random guy who had pad see ew for lunch at the bar once lol_

Jingjing 23:15

_ugh don’t remind me_

Gun 23:15 

_and you were wearing chanel_

Jingjing 23:15

Gun starts eating his kway teow. It’s fine, just the same as the other kway teows he’s had before in his life. He really doesn’t have the appetite for this right now, most especially after Jingjing just reminded him of the Pad See Ew incident.

Suddenly, his phone starts ringing, alerting Off who looks up from his plate with a questioning look. It doesn’t look like he really cares. He’s most probably just surprised and annoyed with the noise. There isn’t much people in the restaurant to drown out a ringtone; it almost sounds shrilling.

Gun immediately turns it off.

_bitchhh_

_don’t call_

_i can’t answer rn_

Gun 23:17

_bitch i’m calling from a rave party_

_and_ you _can’t answer??_

Jingjing 23:17

_i’m with off_

Gun 23:17

_oh shit_

_rightttt_ _that’s tonight_

_what’s up_

Jingjing 23:17

Gun steals a look at the man before him. He’s busy eating his kway teow again. He must be really hungry even though Gun’s positive he saw him put a whole ass pile of his mom’s home cooked food on his plate earlier. 

_bad_

_really bad_

Gun 23:17

Gun waited impatiently for few seconds but Jingjing doesn’t answer, probably distracted by the party. He sent another text.

_we just had some kind of an argument inside his car and now we’re here eating kway fucking teow at who-knows-where_

_it’s so damn awkward i just wanna go home_

Gun 23:18

“So, what’s your story?” Off asks so abruptly and so casually it makes Gun’s skin itch.

Gun looks up. _What is it now?_ “Huh?”

“What’s your story?” Off repeats. “Why are you doing this job?”

Well, that’s out of the blue. It’s hard to believe he was ready to jump Gun’s throat earlier. This guy has a bad case of rapid mood swings and it doesn’t sit well with Gun.

Gun shrugs. “Because some people need a part-time job?” he defensively answers. 

They were just arguing earlier. _Why is he suddenly acting as if nothing happened?_ Gun is still busy immersing on his exasperation, and it’s not something that escalates just with a plate of noodles. His bad mood usually doesn’t go away until he sleeps it off.

“Why do _you,”_ Off points his spoon at him, “need a part-time job?”

Gun sighs in annoyance but looks down to play with his food. He doesn’t want to talk about this now. In fact, he doesn’t want to talk about this at all. “I just do?”

Off pauses, and then he gives an unconvinced nod. “Okay. Why this job though?” Gun doesn’t answer. “Hundred and one jobs out there, but why this one?”

“Why do you want to know?” His tone sounds slightly rude, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He doesn’t want to talk about himself. Off can _not_ talk about himself so why should he?

Honestly, everything’s just starting to get on his nerves now. Off doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. Who knows; maybe this is actually his plan to get back at Gun for being snarky inside the car minutes ago.

“I just think it’s only fair that I know a thing or two about you as well. Don’t you think?” Off looks at him. “You know stuff about me.”

_About your family. That’s two different things._

“Because that’s essential for the job.” 

This is all starting to get to him. He really needs his sleep. Or to just be home at least.

He isn’t really upset with Off for refusing to talk about his life. Heck, they’re strangers for fuck’s sake. Who cares if they know each other personally or not? He’s just upset that Off keeps acting like a hotshot. 

He also doesn’t know why he’s being made to feel bad for not sharing about himself when Off himself has been keeping him in the dark for the past week. And look where it took them.

Maybe everything’s just taking a toll on him all of a sudden; and he’s faced with the fact that he always puts himself in awkward, unpleasant situations because he cannot look after himself like a mature, responsible adult.

It’s not nice to be hit by the reality that the cause of your suffering is yourself all along.

Also, he may or may not be, for the first time in his life, embarrassed of being such a failure in school. It’s different when people actually cares about stuff like that.

_Why the fuck am I having an existential crisis in the middle of a fake date?_

Off stares at him, and then back to the plate of his almost-finished kway teow. “Okay.”

 _Ugh_. Gun suddenly feels extra annoyed. He really wants to be away from here. 

He looks up, not masking the irritation on his face. “We just argued in your car.”

Off gives him a blank look, obviously not getting his point. “So?”

“You’re talking to me as if we didn’t.”

A shrug and an eye roll. “I’m like that.”

 _This is_ definitely _his plan to spite me._

“I’m not like that. I don’t like acting as if nothing happened.” And then he’s walking out of the restaurant only to stand at the side of Off’s car like an idiot.

It’s only when a couple who just got out from a newly parked car passes by and looks at him with curiosity does he realize, _what the hell am I doing?_

“My mom knew,” Off says it so softly it might as well be a whisper. “She knows what we were doing.”

Great. Another shift in the mood. He sounds serious now. _Screw him._

Gun is silent for a while before he forces out a small chuckle. “Am I that bad at acting?”

“No. I think it’s more about me.” Off’s back hits the backrest of his car seat. “She sees right through me.”

Gun wants to tell him that, _“Hey, out of all the bajillion things you told me about your family for the past week, none of them seems accurate except the durian. Congratulations, you don’t freaking know your own family,”_ but he doesn’t. A) because he doesn’t want to _actually_ get into a fist fight with Off; and b) he doesn’t think _he_ himself knows his own goddamn family.

“Okay,” he simply says.

It’s been an hour long of silence, driving back to Gun’s place. Gun still feels annoyed, although he’s now confused about what exactly. But overall, it seems like the tension died down even just a tiny bit. Or they just got better at ignoring it after having their stomachs filled (or just Off’s).

Off only listens to English songs in his car, Gun notices. Maybe it kind of helped that he didn’t understand anything that was coming out of the stereo. It’s easier to drown things out completely. 

“Here.” Off is handing him some cash. “I didn’t get to put it in an envelope like in the movies. We kind of… changed plans.”

 _Like in the movies._

Gun has no idea whether Off was trying to crack a joke or not. Either way, Gun just feels dead tired to care. He just wants his peace back. And for someone who’s gotten used to going out every night (so used he’s learned to fall asleep faster over loud EDMs blasting through humongous speakers than Tchaikovsky), that says a lot.

He takes the money, feeling weird just like the other times he did so. He’ll never get used to this, he realizes. Maybe he shouldn’t. Being a rental date doesn’t really feel like him.

“That's 9 hours.”

Gun looks at his watch. Wow, it really is 1AM already.

 _4,500._ It’s feels like such a long day for 4,500.

“Thanks.” He puts it straight inside his purse, not even bothering to count it.

He looks at Off just because it feels like the proper thing to do. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Hotshot remains a statue, his eyes looking straight down the road and his hands planted on the steering wheel.

This has got to be on the list of the most emotionally exhausting days Gun has ever lived. He can’t believe someone as lame as Off can get to him.

He needs his doze of alcohol. His body is practically begging for it. But for now he needs his bed.

Gun unbuckles his seatbelt. He grabs his purse and heads for the main door.

He's back home.

_Fucking finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still in the middle of writing part two, so that’d probably take some time to post, but I’d love to know what you think about the first part. 
> 
> I’m also on Twitter under the same username: skyandmustard.


	2. Twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up (and kind of like a spoiler too), there’s a sexual scene towards the end of the chapter. It’s nothing explicit, but if you’re not comfortable reading that you can skip ahead. I apologize in advance if the “semi-smut” is a little crazy. It’s been a minute since I last wrote anything like it lol.

What are the odds of seeing an ex at a nightclub at 2AM on a weekday? 

If you haven’t seen each other in a year and didn’t even have any significant connection over the course of your, what, nine- _hour_ relationship, then probably low. But sometimes regardless of how thin the chances are, it’d happen if you’re unlucky enough.

Or _lucky_ enough. It really depends on how much of an idiot you are to actually want an ex back. (You totally know a friend or two.)

Technically speaking, Off isn’t Gun’s ex-boyfriend; they did not _date_ date. Hell, they did not date, period. But in a sense, he kind of still is. A _fake_ ex, if you may.

Now imagine this: you are out with your friends like the usual, dancing crazily at a mosh pit, your body hot and sweaty from being grinded on by strangers, and then when you excuse yourself for a second just to get a drink, you run into your (fake) ex who still looks dry and put-together while you practically look like a wet monkey who ran away from the cruel hands of a zookeeper.

It’s not the best kind of reunion, is it? But you can’t really say Gun is the world’s most favorite human ever. Sometimes he feels like the world hates him as much as he does to Dr. Heinz Doofensmerch. Doopensmirsh? Doofershmerz… Fuck, he hates that name.

“Hey…” Gun’s voice sounds croaky. 

There are a million and one things going on inside his head at the moment, but none of them seems to make sense. He’s shutting down seeing Off’s face so inadvertently like this.

“Hey.” Off’s voice sounds like it’s been pulled out from the depths of his throat, like the Kraken from that Sam Worthington movie. It’s as if he hasn’t talked in a long time.

And so for a moment they just stand there, with Off holding a glass of martini and Gun holding his breath. He doesn’t exactly want to appear like he was just dry-humping a stranger ten seconds ago. Even though he was.

_What do you say to a not-a-stranger-but-not-quite-anything-else-either?_

After that night they drove back to Bangkok and Off dropped off Gun to his place, they didn’t maintain any form of communication at all. They went about their lives forgetting a grand scheme they spent two weeks planning only to end up getting royally fucked in the end. 

And it was good for them, really. It’s not like there was any kind of attachment; they didn’t have to dwell on it at all. But the flaw of that idea is that they also didn’t think about what would happen if they meet again. 

It’s Off who managed to form proper words, although barely.

“You’re here.” The words are thrown out like a frying pan to a burglar with a gun. It’s a poor attempt at saving the moment.

Gun laughs a bit; it’s probably the effect of the alcohol that he finds this encounter rather amusing. “I’m… here,” he echoes, forcing out another string of insincere giggles. 

An awkward silence follows. That has become their brand somehow. If they could at least get some money out of it like Nike or Gucci, that would be nice.

Gun takes this time to give Off a not-so-stealthy once over.

Off’s clothing style hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still wearing a pair of jeans, his black sandals, and his signature Aloha shirt. It’s almost comical to have someone dress up so consistently outside the realm of cartoons.

“I’m actually, um,” Gun stalls, pointing somewhere, “getting a drink.” 

He really is getting a drink, but he doesn’t know why it somehow feels like a mere excuse to get away from Off. It’s like he’s just desperately trying to fill in the silence.

“Oh,” Off nods once. “I’m actually getting one for my friend, too.”

Gun eyes the glass he’s holding. That’s probably a lie, but he lets Off follow him to the bar service because what else can he do besides that. And he also figures he’s not really in a rush to get rid of Off. He’s tipsy; you don’t care as much when you are.

Gun squeezes through a crowd of people, and then immediately orders a daiquiri as soon as his hand hit the counter. He eyes Off in his peripheral vision.

You know that quote people say when they see someone for the first time in a long time? _‘It feels like it was only yesterday.’_ But for Gun, it feels like it’s been five years since the last time he saw Off instead of one. He could trace back the things that happened then, but it feels like remembering a distant memory.

“Long time no see.” It is another one of Off’s attempts at making small talk. He’s already seated on one of the stools.

Gun only shrugs, but he takes a seat on the one beside Off’s. He cannot fully grasp why he feels as if he doesn’t have a choice even though he does.

“You’re here with your friends?” Off asks, swirling his drink lightly just to channel his unease somewhere else. 

Of course they end up sitting on the stools instead of getting back to what they were doing before they had the misfortune of running into each other. 

Gun has this wild thought about the gods having nothing better to do so they’re now trying to entertain themselves by making him and Mr. Hotshot meet again. 

_They’re probably drinking some beer and eating barbecue while they watch us suffer. It’s like they’re watching Netflix. Netflix and grill._

Gun nods. “Yep. They’re,” he looks at the direction of their table only to find it unsurprisingly empty, “here somewhere.” He takes a sip from the daiquiri the bartender just handed him. “Yours?”

“Yeah, they’re all over.” 

It’s not an ideal place for catching up. A loud bass is blasting from the amplifiers all across the bar and there isn’t a spot you wouldn’t feel the floor vibrating under your feet.

And truth be told, Gun shouldn’t really be spending his sweet time sitting on a bar stool staring at an old client’s (he still cringes at that word) face after he just had a little more than a couple of drinks… and, well, after he just slut-dropped about thirty times on the dancefloor. 

His world is suddenly still and it’s making his head ironically spin, as if the booze is rapidly spreading all across his system now that he’s not moving. His thighs are killing him, too.

He turns his attention to the dance floor. It’s loud and blurry and dark except for the flicker of colored lights every couple of seconds (which aren’t really doing much; not that it mattered). It’s fun and lively; it’s one of his favorite places to be at, if he’s being frank. Bodies seem to have lost their edges there. They look like a big mush of skin wiggling around to EDM; he could get dizzy just by looking.

He turns back to Off and almost flinches at the obvious contrast. The guy is staring into space; he seems to always be preoccupied by something, is boring, grumpy, and the same old infuriatingly serious type Gun remembers him to be. He just doesn’t seem to have even a tinge of fun in his system.

Off’s pitiful state has Gun blurting out, “Do you wanna dance?”

Off looks up from his drink, surprised. “What?” He visibly squirms at the idea. 

“Let’s down three shots of tequila then let’s go there,” Gun says, gesturing to the rave.

Off pauses for a moment before snorting. He’s physically battling with himself not to run away. “No, thanks. I don’t dan—”

“Three shots of tequila, please,” Gun calls for the bartender. “Each for us both.”

Off deadpans at him. Gun almost laughs at the thought of finding it particularly easy to ignore Off’s annoyed face now. 

_What’s the worst thing he could do, really?_ Maybe murder Gun. But Hotshot has a reputation to keep, so Gun doubts he’d do it at a bar. He could one year ago though, when they were alone inside the car. At an expressway.

The bartender comes back with the tequila shots. 

Gun is certainly tipsy by now, and taking these shots could potentially make him another living proof of the accuracy of that famous philosophy: “one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, _floor_ tequila.” But who gives a shit? You don’t say he passes up the chance to get back at Off now, do you?

With his eyes glued to Off the whole time, he drowns down the shots in a matter of seconds, grimacing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Come on, P’Off,” he prompts. “Don’t be a pussy.”

Off holds eye contact for a second, mentally debating with himself, before rolling his eyes.

Gun isn’t sure if it is because of his mockery or just the plain fact that this is the first time he actually addressed him as P’, but Off did take all his shots. 

Unlike Gun though, there isn’t any visible change in his face. He just sighs and clicks his tongue. You could probably ask him to drink water and then tequila and you wouldn’t know the difference. _What a psychopath._

“Let’s go.” Gun jumps off from the stool. “But pay for our drinks first.”

Off raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Oh, come on. You needed it more than I do.”

Off should know by now that one year isn’t enough time for someone to miraculously deal with their financial issues. Gun was irresponsibly broke then; he still is now.

“You’re the one who ordered,” Off sighs, but he takes out his wallet from his back pocket nonetheless. 

Gun watches him put a few bills on the counter, getting reminded of that time he was at the receiving end of that paycheck. It’s good to not feel so paranoid anymore every time Off does as much as touch his wallet. He cannot afford another familiar face overhearing and overseeing their money transactions.

_God, that one time sucked._

“Come on.” Gun unconsciously reaches out for Off’s wrist. “Let’s get you loosened up.”

Off has no goddamn idea about dancing, if that’s even any news for you. He’s standing there like a pitiful, stiff lamppost and Gun’s starting to feel like he’s pole dancing instead of actually dancing _with_ somebody. 

He knows Off has zero interest in being on the dancefloor, but _man_ , can he be any more obvious. The people around them might think he’s holding Off hostage. If they pay attention to anything else except catering to their adrenaline and libido, that is.

“You’re a beanpole.”

“What?” Off can’t really hear over the loud bass. No one can. You just have to suddenly be a master at lip reading. Or have your mouth pressed on the other person’s ear, but there’s not a chance Off is doing that.

“You’re not dancing,” Gun shouts, swaying and moving along with the music. “That’s so lame.”

Off doesn’t answer for a second, looking more and more displeased. “Can I go back?”

Gun doesn’t see the point of Off being at a club without any intention of dancing or having fun. He seems to be there only to get sauced and spread his misery around like a freaking plague. He’s like a walking eulogy.

“No,” Gun spits out, pointing an index finger at Off. The drinks are starting to get to him. “Not until you dance.”

Off stares at him disapprovingly, eyebrows raised. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Gun makes a face, almost unbalanced. “You’ve had some drinks,” he points out.

The answer is straight and emotionless. “I’m not a lightweight like you.”

Gun does a double take.

_Wha—? A lightweight?_

He scoffs. He must be a little over tipsy by now because he’s starting to get in denial about it. 

But he really _is_ not a lightweight. _(Just saying.)_ He’d just been having the hard drinks since earlier. Off probably only had tomato juice or iced tea before they ran into each other.

“You should’ve asked for the whole bottle then,” Gun barks in sarcasm, and then he rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh — signs of giving up. “Whatever. I’m finding someone else.”

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly; he’d hoped for it but he didn’t really expect Off to have the balls), Off pulls him back before he can even take one step. 

_Would you look at that. Reverse psychology_ actually _works better for him._

Before Gun knows it, they’re on their way back to the bar service with Off asking for a few more shots of some kind of drink Gun doesn’t even bother memorizing. It’s supposedly harder so there’s that.

Off winces at his last shot this time, which might be a good sign. He stares at Gun for quite a moment, a memory of that time at the cafe where they had absolutely no idea that they were about to screw up their whole agenda and that one year later they’d find themselves at a bar provoking each other to see who’d give in first. Only this time, Off has the look of determination in his eyes instead of a barely suppressed anxiety.

“What are you waiting for?” Off smirks. “Let’s go.” 

He drags Gun back to the pit, and honestly, Gun has all the right to feel scared. It doesn’t look like Off’s going to back down any minute now. But the alcohol is starting to get to him real good, and the only thing going on inside his head now is to see how this ends this time.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

Gun hurriedly reaches for his discarded shirt on the dashboard before scurrying to the passenger seat, struggling to put the shirt back on. 

“There’s a car,” he barely explains, breathless. He almost got a kink on his wrist from trying to hastily pull his shirt down after it got stuck on his head.

Off eyes his rearview mirror; someone just parked right behind them. He watches as at least five people come out of the SUV, two of whom are toddlers. 

_Who the fuck goes out to eat at a 24-hour fast food at 4AM with their kids?_

He collapses on his seat, his head hitting the headrest. He turns to Gun. “Your hair’s a mess.”

Gun’s head snaps back to him, eyes scanning his whole face and then down. Both their chests are heaving. “Yours too.”

They had a few more drinks after that short little affair on the dancefloor. And it turns out the fourth shot of tequila doesn’t always mean you’ll end up on the floor all passed out — maybe on your (fake) ex’s passenger seat while it’s parked outside a McDonalds, but not always on the floor.

Off puts his arm over his eyes. He’s out of breath and they haven’t even done anything past making out yet. “You also have at least three forming hickeys on your neck.”

This time, Gun rolls his eyes. He looks straight back to what looks like a species of areca palm right in front of the spot they parked at. “Don’t look smug.”

Of course Gun’s drunk, and after a few more trips to the bar service, it seems like Off as well. After all, you wouldn’t really expect them to be sucking each other’s faces off after more than a year of not seeing each other if they’re not.

Truthfully speaking, Gun would’ve made all the effort to slip away from Off if he’s sober. He doesn’t have anything to say to him, and he has a hot guy waiting for him back at the pit. But he guesses a few booze does make an unplanned reunion seem interesting.

“Long time no see,” Off mumbles, flapping the collar of his shirt. He’s all disheveled and sweaty. That would’ve made a clean freak like Gun shiver in distaste on any other day, but right now it’s only making him want to go back on Off’s lap.

_It’s the tequila, man._

_One tequila. Two tequila. Three tequila. McDonalds parking lot tequila. Off’s lap tequila. Who knows what’s next?_

“You’ve already said that.” 

Off knits his eyebrows. “What?”

“You’ve already said ‘long time no see’ earlier.”

Gun watches the family from the side mirror as they enter the store. One of the kids almost got knocked out by the glass door. Poor child almost got a nosebleed for a box of happy meal.

“...Oh.”

Gun lets out a sigh. “This is so stupid.”

Off laughs at that, agreeing. “I know.”

A long stretch of silence followed. The family has disappeared inside McDonalds, and there’s no one else crazy enough to follow them. (It’s 4AM for heaven’s sake.) The only thing that can be heard is the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional sound of a passing car from the road a few meters away.

When he went out of his flat this afternoon, Gun had no idea he’d end up making out with an old _client_ at a parking lot. He’s stopped doing that type of ‘business’ a long time ago. He can’t believe the ghost of his past keeps on haunting him. 

“How’s your family?” Gun means it as a form of small talk since they were the only people she met aside from Off during that time they had to be together, and they’re basically the only connection they had. 

Off snickers, but he answers truthfully nonetheless. “They’re fine. My sister’s pregnant with their second child.”

Gun nods an ‘ah.’ “Congrats to them.” 

Another long stretch of silence. The palm leaves are swaying wildly. It must be pretty windy outside. Gun is hoping for Off to turn on his stereo or something, but he does not.

After a while, Gun cannot take the ironic peacefulness of this whole scene any longer so he blurts, “You know, she actually told me about Milk before.”

_Well, that just came out._

Off seems surprised, not by the fact that his sister would talk about his ex but with Gun deciding to bring this up now — one year after they met to orchestrate the most unsuccessful plan to ever see the face of Thailand.

And after they just, well, had their tongues down each other’s throats. 

“Yeah?” Off rests his arm on the steering wheel, looking out. “What’d she say?”

“Nothing, really.” Gun shifts from his seat. “She just said I was the first one you introduced to them after you guys broke up.”

Off shrugs. 

The whole night has just been a collection of deja vus, but this one feels the most poignant — them as almost-strangers, sitting alone in a car, talking about something personal.

“You know, they really care about you.” Gun catches himself. “I mean, we’ve only met once. But they seem to really do.”

Off lets out an amused chuckle. “I don’t know about that. Sometimes I feel like they don’t care about me. Sometimes I feel like they care too much.”

Gun doesn’t know exactly why he’s pushing this conversation, but it’s been bothering him since he saw Off again — sitting on that stool, nursing a glass of martini, and looking as miserable as the last time he saw him inside his car. It’s the same damn look on his face. Empty, sad, but sort of used to it. The lines on his face appear to have become used to it, too.

Gun doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol talking or if it’s the sudden three-second flashback of the night at Off’s house a year ago. 

Or maybe he just wants to pull a reaction out of him. He’s confused about what it is at this point; his brain has stopped functioning hours ago.

“Your sister is really concerned about you,” he presses. 

Off doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. The look on his face says he doesn’t want to talk about it, but also as though it’s the first time someone actually brought it up.

 _Shit._

Gun slouches on his seat. He really shouldn’t have come with Off when he offered to give him a lift. He _has_ a lift. He came there with the usual people and they all have their usual, organized roles — the designated driver, the one in dire need of getting shitfaced, the one who’s going to hold the purse of the person in dire need of getting shitfaced while they projectile vomit at the side of the street, and the one who’s going to take videos for instagram and for archival purposes. It’s a system and it’s worked for years. 

Jingjing is going to berate him later for breaking out of tradition (without telling her a word) for a dick. Except he didn’t get the dick. 

_That’s totally going to enrage her even more._

“Do your parents still hate me?” Gun wonders out loud. He talks a lot when he’s drunk.

Off looks at him, and then away. “I don’t think they ever did. They know you were just acting.”

“Right.”

A delivery truck must’ve passed by the main road because a loud engine sound shakes them for a little bit. Gun almost wishes it’d stay. The sound is a nice distraction from his own thoughts. He doesn’t want to make the situation any more awkward than it already is.

“Nirin ate the durian, by the way. It seems she’s the first one in our family to ever eat that cursed fruit.” Off shakes his head in amusement. “She liked it a lot.”

Gun purses his lips, nodding. “At least someone in the family has taste.”

That damn fruit was the icon of the show one year ago. Gun doesn’t think he’d be able to pull off the act without it. Of course they didn’t actually end up successful, but that fruit was like his confidence provider at that time. It started off the show quite nicely.

“We dated for nine years,” Off suddenly blurts out. Gun almost jumped from the fact that Off’s voice sounds like it is booming amidst the silence of the dawn. “Milk and I.” 

A long pause follows. Off is still breathing soundly, but not from exhaustion this time. Or maybe it is exhaustion, just a different kind.

“And then we broke up,” he mumbles. “Just like that.”

Gun doesn’t know what to say. He’s not very good at consoling people, nor is he the best at giving relationship advice. 

And so he sat there unmoving like an idiot, knowing damn well he brought this on himself by mentioning the conversation he had with Off’s sister before. He really doesn’t know where he was going with that and he’s regretting it now. His brain-to-mouth filter always fails him at the most perfect times.

“You know when you’ve been with someone for so long you forgot what it’s like to be on your own?” Off chuckles, although in chagrin.

_Oh —_

“She was my first girlfriend,” he continues, eyes still glued to the front. He has his wrist resting on the steering wheel, nails unconsciously fiddling with his cuticles. “So when we broke up, it felt like I was left in the middle of nowhere.”

_Snap._

“For a long time I just keep standing there like a moron, waiting for her to come back and pick up the pieces.”

_Shit._

Gun is shifting uncomfortably in his seat now. Inside his head, he’s playing with the idea of the leather suddenly swallowing him whole. 

He hopes it happens.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he tries carefully. “I understand h—”

“Have you been in a long-term relationship before?” Off cuts him off.

Gun pauses, and then forces out a laugh void of any humor. He looks away, caught off guard by the question. He’s not particularly proud of his dating history; that’s why. “Well, I... I’ve been _in_ a relationship before. And I know break-up sucks —”

“What’s your longest relationship?”

“...What?”

“What’s your longest relationship.”

“Uhh… Two years?” He didn’t expect to actually use addition outside of math class, but here he is. His longest relationship only lasted for eighteen months.

“Then you don’t understand,” Off blurts out harshly. “You don’t understand how hard it is to spend so many years building a life with somebody, only for things to end up going down the drain.”

_Woah. Okay, no need to be an asshole about it._

Gun knows now that the breakup must’ve been tough for Off, but he thinks it’s still a little bit concerning for him to still be a dick about it when it happened two years ago — if Gun’s gravely terrible math skills even serves him right at this point. 

He’s no therapist, but Off is definitely not showing healthy signs of moving on (if he’s showing any at all). And like, _really_ moving on. Not the ‘well, I only think about it rarely but when I do I break six chairs and cry over videos of dying polar bears in Antarctica for days just to channel my angst somewhere else’ type of moving on. 

Not that he’s against people watching videos of dying polar bears in Antarctica since that’s a movement to raise awareness on its own, but you get what he means.

Or maybe Off is right. He just doesn’t understand how it works for a nine-year relationship. He’s never been in one. And maybe he’ll never be in one; who knows? Sometimes he feels like he’s not made for shit like dating and relationships. Considering his past, it’s kind of ironic, right?

“And my family? They care. They _do_ care. They tried to pull me out.” There’s venom on Off’s voice. “I don’t know how you can draw that conclusion just by meeting them once, but you don’t know them.”

_Great. Every time they meet they just have to argue about every single thing, don’t they?_

Despite the burn at the back of his eyes from sleep deprivation and the threat of a lasting migraine, Gun understands that Off is right though. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.

“Okay, I’m sor—”

“Milk and I goes way back high school,” Off seethes, “and I understand she’s grown on them — damn, she’s grown on me for fuck’s sake.” 

It’s too late. Off is way over his head now. He’s unstoppable. He’s in too deep in his emotions and he’s about to spit out everything he’s been keeping in his guts. Gun can feel it; it’s like he’s opened a pandora's box.

“But god,” Off grumbles, his hands on a fist, “can they just stop making it look like they’re consoling me one second only to bring her up the next? Damn, I can’t even eat a goddamn vanilla ice cream without being reminded that it’s her favorite. Like, I know, okay? I was _the_ boyfriend, not you. And I just wish — I’m — they’d just — fuck.” 

Off stops, breathing heavily. He stares at nothing for a while before audibly letting out a deep breath. “I’ve drank quite enough, haven’t I?”

There’s only one thing filling up Gun’s head. He’s glad Off is not the type to cry when upset or angry, because he himself definitely is. And he doesn’t think he could handle a crying Off to top of everything that already went down.

Gun gingerly turns to Off. He has his head leaning back to the headrest of his seat, eyes closed and chest unevenly moving.

The guy is clearly having a meltdown, and it’s making Gun doubt if he’s ever let out these frustrations before when it mattered. Not that it doesn’t matters now. Of course it does; they’re valid emotions. But he wonders if Off has ever talked about this before when he needed it the most. 

Maybe not, Gun thinks. Because if Off did, then they wouldn’t be sitting in his car right now trying to pass time by lamenting about something that happened two years ago.

They should’ve stuck to making out. It’s a better way of dealing with intoxication than weeping over the woes of the past.

A long time passes with none of them making a sound. Gun is starting to think that Off already fell asleep, so now he’s debating whether to join Off’s little naptime or sneak out, save himself from another awkward encounter, and go home. 

But then Off moves. He leans over to open the glove compartment, fishing out a water bottle. Gun watches him take big gulps.

Off is only two years older than Gun, but he doesn’t really appear or feel so. It’s like he’s way more. Gun doesn’t know if it’s just because he himself is immature and a little childish at times that it’s making Off look mature and old, or if it’s really just Off’s upbringing and the things he’s been through.

“Have you talked to your family about that?”

Off throws the empty bottle at the side of the gearshift. “What?”

Perhaps now is the perfect time for Gun to shut his mouth, but he feels like this is exactly what Off needs to hear right this moment. 

“Have you told them, ‘hey, I know it feels like she’s already part of the family and it’s hard on you and you’re all moving on, too. But imagine how it must be for me. I respect all of you but I would really appreciate it if you just shut the hell up and let me deal with my pain without getting reminded of her favorite goddamn dessert every five seconds’?”

“Wha—?” With his mouth slightly agape, Off has the look of disbelief. He lets out a breath, gathering himself. “And why would I tell them that?”

Gun rolls his eyes at Off feigning ignorance. “Because that’s exactly what you’ve been wanting to tell them,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Off stares at him in horror, denial evident in his face. 

“You know,” Gun continues, shrugging. “Instead of babbling on about it to me, maybe you should tell it to the people who actually need to hear it.”

Little giggles suddenly catch Gun’s attention. He turns to see the family from the side mirror, with the two kids both carrying new toys they probably got from the kid’s meal. He and Off watches them stop beside the car, arguing who gets the window seat.

Gun’s phone vibrates at the side of his leg.

_where the fuck are u?_

Jingjing 04:49

He glances at Off who’s busy watching the family from his side mirror. He looks preoccupied about something else though.

_got a lift from someone_

Gun 04:49

_a heads up would be nice u bitch_

Jingjing 04:49

_sorry :((_

_Gun 04:49_

_don’t make that pitiful face_

_deets later_

_dinner’s on you too_

_btch_

_i hate u rn but go get that dick u mtherfcker_

Jingjing 04:50

Gun doesn’t know how he’ll survive telling Jingjing it is actually Off he’s with. _She will absolutely pop a vein when she finds out._ But he figures he’ll deal with that later; he has a much bigger problem at the moment — the Devil himself.

He watches as the family drives off the parking lot, leaving him and Off alone in each other’s company again.

Gun is already running out of things to think about; he’s always left on his own thoughts whenever he’s with Off. It’s the thing he hates the most, and it is exactly why you’d rarely see him stay in his flat on his own.

“I know this is a stupid quesetion,” Off starts, eyes looking everywhere except at Gun. “But do you want to continue… where we left off?”

_...Oh._

_Okay._

Gun definitely did not expect that. He thought Off would ask him to get out of his car and take a taxi or a motorcycle back to his place instead. And maybe if he also has the money for it.

Gun doesn’t know how drunk Off is right now, but he surely still is. Gun has this useless discovery that Off is the angry, horny type of drunk. Angry isn’t a surprise, but the latter is certainly amusing.

There are quite a number of reasons for Gun to agree — he’s twenty-three and Off’s even older; he can do whatever the hell he wants; the family with weird eating habits is gone; Off is actually quite a good kisser, and they are both single anywa—

“You don’t have a girlfriend, right?” he asks, kind of slurry. “Or a boyfriend.”

Off snorts. “No. Do you think I’d be making out with you if I do?”

“I don’t know. Do you think you left a good impression on me one year ago?”

Off makes a face, faking offense. Although Gun thinks he might actually be slightly offended. “Bad enough for you to think I’m a cheater? And after everything I just told you?”

“I’m just making sure, okay?” 

Gun nearly kissed an engaged man before so you can’t really blame him. But seriously though, _what’s with these douchebags acting single when they’re not?_

There are countless reasons for Gun to decline, too. But the reality is that he is in no right state of mind to weigh his pros and cons right now. And so he decides, _to hell with it_ (what is there to lose anyway; definitely not virginity) _,_ and leans in for a kiss.

Off immediately catches his mouth, hand moving to the back of his head to press their lips closer. 

The kiss is more rushed and rough this time, and it’s probably because of Off’s pent up frustration finally being let out.

It’s weird to be kissing Off right now though, Gun thinks. One year ago, they did kiss on the neck and cheeks but never on the lips. They did plan on it, but as you probably know already, things didn’t really go according to plan. They even planned on making some sex noises inside Off’s bedroom at midnight in a petty attempt to make his family uncomfortable with their supposedly healthy sex life. But to actually be making out inside Off’s car right now, one year too late and with no one getting paid, it somehow feels oddly illicit. 

Gun moves back to Off’s lap — his exact position earlier, with both legs on either side of Off’s and arms wrapped around his neck.

Gun feels Off’s fingertips running along the bare skin of his waist, making him shiver. In return, his nails graze against the skin of Off’s nape. Wet noises flood the insides of the car and it’s only making Gun even more lightheaded.

Off sucks on his bottom lip, even going as much as pulling on it lightly with his teeth. Gun feels tongue reaching the roof of his mouth, and then urging his own tongue to fight back.

A moment later, Gun feels a hand grabbing his ass; it makes his back arch involuntarily, causing their clothed dicks to press deliciously together. He lets out a grunt. They’re both hard.

“Do you want me to use my hands?” Off asks. There’s a warble in his voice but it’s hard to know whether it’s from being turned on or from being nervous. It’s a weird thought to have someone like Off nervous about sexy stuff though; he seems a bit too conceited for it.

“Do _you_ want me to use my mouth?” Gun asks instead. More of _challenges_. 

Off seems to really take his time thinking about it. _This horny bastard._ But he finally settles with, “Do _you_ want to?” Gun only shrugs, not really caring. “You don’t have to feel like you need to do it.”

Gun blinks. _Oh._

That strangely made something in his stomach stir. If it is because of Off, who’s rarely nice to him even during the time they needed to convince the world they were in love suddenly saying something nice to him for once, or if it’s really just _someone_ telling him something nice in general, he’s not sure. 

Maybe Jingjing’s right. Maybe he should stop having one-night stands; no one’s ever nice during one-night stands. Everyone’s just horny, wild animals who may or may not have taken a little too much dose of viagra. Although he really doesn’t do it very often, it is certainly more frequent than him being in a serious relationship and definitely enough for the simplest, littlest things to start making him feel _things_. It’s stupid and pitiful.

Off resumes to kissing his neck. Softly and carefully at first and then with teeth grazing next. He wraps his arms entirely on Gun’s waist, and it honestly makes Gun feel so small. He’s always been smaller than an average guy, but Off makes him feel so _tiny_ and he’s not entirely sure why. 

Maybe it is because Off’s thighs are almost twice the size of his, and also the fact that Off’s hands can conveniently reach both his own elbows when hugging Gun’s waist. But Gun’s been with other guys who can do that, so maybe it’s actually just Off’s presence that’s towering in itself.

The sound of labored breathing fills the car. It’s way too quiet that even the unzipping of his pants sounds so loud.

Off pulls on the hem of Gun’s shirt, discarding it for the second time today. Gun can’t even begin to explain the feeling of having Off’s hands and mouth map their way around his body. He even made the mistake of moaning when Off sucks on a particular spot behind his ear, so now the guy won’t stop licking it and it’s making Gun melt into a puddle of goo. His head falls on Off’s shoulder. 

All of his senses are heightened at this point that even a single touch of a fingertip sends electricity through his skin. The hair on his arms are on its ends, body shivering from being exposed to thin air.

Off’s lips move down from his neck to his shoulder, clavicle, chest, and then to one of his nipples. Gun’s breath hitches, one hand instinctively wrapping at the back of Off’s neck.

Off begins to suck on it, revelling himself with all the noises Gun is making on every kiss and lick. He experimentally puts it between his teeth, softly grazing. It elicits a sensual moan from Gun, his head throwing backwards and hand pushing Off’s face closer to his body.

Off alternates from one nipple to the other, and then to Gun’s neck and collar bones. There wouldn’t be just three hickeys there later for sure. 

It may be the alcohol or just something else entirely, but Gun starts opening each one of the buttons of Off’s shirt before he starts unbuckling the belt.

There’s a tingling feeling at the base of his spine, and he isn’t sure if it’s from the giddiness of having Off’s bare skin pressing against his own or if it’s just common sense leaving his body.

The interior of the car is engulfed by the rustling of clothes, clinking of belts, and of desperate grunting. At this point, even if a whole school bus park behind them they wouldn’t be able to stop.

Gun pulls Off’s cock out of his pants, earning him a lust-filled groan. Off runs his fingers on Gun’s hair before pulling his head down so he can lick the shell of his ear.

“You’re so good,” Off whispers, making Gun visibly shiver on his lap.

He reaches for Gun’s lips, kissing him softly and then looking at his eyes as if to ask for permission. Gun nods weakly; he feels so, so lightheaded by now. 

Off has Gun’s bottom lip between teeth, pulling on it lightly before unzipping Gun’s jeans.

“Do you want to go in for coffee?” 

Gun doesn’t ask other guys that. Hell, he doesn’t even invite anyone at his place. But Off is Off, and he thinks the guy at least deserves coffee for staying up until 6AM with him.

But instead of answering, Off just looks at him. _Really_ looks at him. With piercing eyes, washed with emotions Gun has never seen in his eyes before; although that doesn’t really say much. Off looks expressionless all the time that even just the slightest change in his usual resting face appears to be a lot. It’s an illusion.

Off breaks eye contact. “I don’t think I can.”

Gun doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved. It’s hard to process anything else when his brain is still trying to digest the fact that he’s just received a handjob from Off fifteen minutes ago. And gave one, too.

He only shrugs. “Yeah… okay.”

Maybe it’s good that Off leaves. They might regret whatever that would happen after the coffee.

“I’m actually going back to Taiwan tomorrow,” Off confesses but doesn’t elaborate. Gun is surprised, but he doesn’t respond. _So that’s why._

The girl from the same floor as Gun just got back from her morning run. Gun watches her get back inside the building as he wonders what it’s like having a healthy habit. He swears that girl eats like a goat, too. He’s seen her countless times at the convenience store buying salads while he fills his basket with chips and soda. They’ve met at the drugstore too, her buying some kind of organic supplement while Gun almost begs the pharmacist for an advil.

“I’m taking my masters,” Off continues after an awkwardly long pause. “I’m actually here just for my term break.”

Gun remembers that time Off told him about his dad suggesting for him to get back to studying. “You actually went with it.”

Off seems surprised he remembers. Gun wants to tell him it’s only been a year, but he realizes it’s not the length of time Off is surprised about. 

“Yeah. And I guess I also needed a break from here.”

Gun nods, understanding. His eyes shift at the clock on Off’s stereo. It’s 6:36. He has a class at 12:30 he can’t really skip, but he’s thinking about it anyway. He doesn’t want to be buying pain relievers on the way to class only to bump into that girl getting her vitamins again. Also, he‘s not in the mood to go all Michaelangelo with his neck — they’re not allowed turtlenecks.

“It’s good to have breaks,” Gun replies, but when he realized what he just said he adds, “I mean, a _break_ like a vacation — but not an actual vacation because you’re studying. More of like —”

Off chuckles. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m good now.”

Gun relaxes, deflating on his seat. “Okay. Good.”

The clock reads 6:38.

“I’ll be going.”

Off turns to him and they hold eye contact for a moment. It’s weird. It feels like the alcohol is completely flushed out of their system now and they’re both only seeing each other clearly at this moment.

Off has longer hair than when they met a year ago, Gun notices. The tips are reaching his ear and he needs to constantly brush it out of his face. It suits him better. The first three buttons of his shirt is still undone and there’s a purplish mark peeking from one of the collars. It almost made Gun’s eyelids twitch. Off’s really going back to Taiwan with those.

“I’ll be going,” he repeats, almost under his breath. He’s suddenly embarrassed.

Off‘s eyes unconsciously fall down on Gun’s neck, too. “Yeah, um, it was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.”

“Uh,” Off clears his throat, looking back at the street. “Bye, Gun.”

Gun reaches for his phone, putting it back inside his purse. “Bye. Um, have a safe flight back to Taiwan.”

“Thanks.”

Gun unbuckles his seatbelt. He grabs his purse and heads for the main door.

He's back home.

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had half of this written before posting the first chapter but it still took me days to finish. Now I haven’t written a single word for the third chapter so y’all can just imagine. It’d take a long while. But I’ll do my best and write as much as I can with the limited time I have. 
> 
> Talk to me and tell me what you think! I’m also on Twitter as @skyandmustard. Thank you and love lots!


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